Located near the Manitoba-Ontario border is Poplar Hill, home to the Anishnaabe (Ojibway) Poplar Hill First Nation. Many of the children there attended the Poplar Hill Development School, an Indian Residential school that operated between 1962 and 1989. A quick Google search shows that many survivors have spoken openly about their experience, the good and the bad, but no one mentions the audio record of the experienced pain. To mark its tenth anniversary, the school released a 12-inch vinyl record called My Northern Home, which features fifteen recorded songs that had been sung by the children of Poplar Hill Development School between 1969 and 1972. Yet, as I scavenged for even a hint of information about its recordings or release, its existence seemed doubtful except for the fact that I had held the vinyl in my own two hands and heard it playback through my speakers as the needle took a plastic ride through history.

Of the fifteen songs, two were sung in Cree, a surprising feature considering the total suppression of Indigenous languages in residential schools, but even the Cree song “Down At The Cross” suggests a Western religious theme. If not exploring Christian teachings of Jesus Christ, the songs mentioned the land, the seasons or school life. As much as My Northern Home may feel like salt poured into open wounds, the powerful sound of these voices is an important learning experience to share. These songs eerily capture an oppressive past so distant, yet so near; they are acapella time capsules that run through the veins of Indigenous cultures and the current issues that echo so loudly.

Dionysos is considered the first Québécois rock band with a full repertoire of originals. Proof may still be required, but they sure didn’t need any covers! A bunch of stoner drifters from Valleyfield fuelled by Deep Purple and Mexican Gold took over the studio of Donald Lautrec, the king of yé-yé pop in Québec. There they recorded six heavy psychedelic progressive monsters, tightly wrapped in blues. Through the hypnotic organ spirals (“L’âge du Chlore”) and bursts of fuzzed-up guitar (“Narcotique”) singer Paul-André Thibert delivers a roaring worker’s poetry on “Suzie,” a song with lyrics always rhyming with its title. Yet we can’t ignore P-A’s performance on flute and harmonica. Most of the time, awkward, out of breath or flaky aren’t great terms when it comes to music, but P-A gets to the core of these concepts as a raw, free, back-of-the-bus poet. Tripping way over the known parts of Québec rock at the time, Dionysos transcends Black Sabbath and Aut’Chose to become a revolted god who will fall into oblivion after its time.

From the gruff hinterlands of Rocky Mountain House, Bruce Haack is a perpetual anomaly. A prodigious and delightfully confusing lone wolf way, way ahead of his time, he has become revered for personal, technological advances — both in the physical machinery he created and the resulting audio output. Book II, his follow-up to the legendary Electric Lucifer, is lyrically heavy; nursery rhythms and vocoded ruminations layered upon Haack’s electronic landscapes. Perhaps it’s the premonitory bullseye on the dizzying, beautiful and intensely distracting influence technology has on our lives, but the Haackified vision of the man-machine humanoid has become a perilously real possibility. At this point, one is asked not to just hear and listen, but to try and understand our (d)evolved techno existence.

Alex Brien and Eddie Wagner unearth a uber-strange nihilistic punk shredder for Psyché.qc.ca: Les Biberons Bâtis! Embrace their madness; it is inescapable. What remains is a work transcending comedy and punk nihilism, without giving any shit, ever.

Attaboy on meurt! is a CD anthology of two tapes, Attaboy on souffre (1984) and Attaboy on agonise (1985), with the addition of nine previously unreleased songs. This is where things stop being normal. Les Biberons Bâtis is only one man. They/he never played any shows. Once the record starts to spin, it’s a parade of post-punk hallucinations that goes right through your brain for the next hour. One-man orchestra in a straightjacket Satan Bélanger offers us garage-post-surf nuggets, mixing phone calls with imaginary friends and tormented feelings. Between the fuzz and Suicide-esque noise in songs like “Action”, there are also sparkers like “La Santé” that could have been recorded by Amen Dunes with a sore throat, noisy rock sitcoms loaded with musical references, and the search for happiness through Québec’s Nordiques hockey team. Les Biberons Bâtis embrace their madness; it is inescapable. What remains is a work transcending comedy and punk nihilism, without giving any shit, ever.

Michael Horwood is a 20th century composer who began recording in the late ’60s. Horwood composes multi-instrumental works and is particularly interested in percussion. One of his apples didn’t fall too far from the tree, and son Jacob Horwood (Gastric Female Reflex, Claudio, sole proprietor of avant imprint extraordinaire Beniffer Editions) opened up his label’s gates to his father’s vaults back in 2007. That began with a live cassette dose of Music Gallery goodness from the percussion-led free-jazz quartet Convergence that Horwood Sr. served with during the late ’70s and early ’80s. An unforgettable Convergence LP followed.

This time around we have nearly 13 minutes of prime wax in white 7” form, wrapped in an eye-popping silkscreened gatefold executed to the max by Horwood Jr. “The Pattern” and “Dimensions” might be inspired by Robert Creeley’s poems, but for 1968 these skewed chamber pieces for tapes, voices and alarming sounds were wonderfully contemporary when you consider the like-minded back-room madness being recorded at the time. In fact, you could compare the cut-up, spliced, re-arranged and flipped sensibilities at play within this EP’s tight confines to be part and parcel of the same culture-chopping insanity that brought us the warped visions behind cut-up art-noise frontiersmen Gastric Female Reflex. Heady generational goodness!

Two, the number of the generation, the number of duality. Dionne-Brégent, a unique group in Québec’s 1970s musical landscape, became prophets on their second record. The duo began by casting a spell through a long invocation reminiscent of foreign devotional music, like an Asian El Topo soundtracked by Tangerine Dream. Once under the charm of the initiation ritual, the flipside sucks listeners into the swirling synths of Brégent, backed up strongly and effortlessly by a variety of complex rhythms from Dionne. Alongside them comes an arrangement of brass, strings and choir vocals, adding finishing touches to the already wide spectrum of sounds and worldly instruments played by the pair of multi-instrumentalists. These elements combine to form a unique album in its own right. Two stars out of two.

If you ask the average layperson, “Hey! You! What’s the best album by a Canadian band in the last half of the 20th century?” Obviously, they’re gonna say “Love Tara, by Eric’s Trip.” Duh, every time. However, ask Jesus the same question, and you’re gonna get a different answer; one spoken resolutely in Aramaic, and shouted through an echoplex. Jesus is gonna say… “Troubled, by the New Creation (((((((((((((( !!!!!!!!!!”

And here’s why! Originally released in 1970 on Vancouver’s Alphomega Records, and finally re-issued on California’s Companion Records, Troubled is sloppy, trippy, apocalyptic garage-psych. Imagine the Velvet Underground, Skip Spence, and the Shaggs holed up in a bomb shelter with the Partridge Family, while some loving Quakers homeschool them in Essene eschatology! Now imagine all that in 12 hot tracks. I’m not talking your parent’s apocalyptic, Jesus Freak scene (oh wait — it’s from the ’70’s, maybe it is). Anyway, pick this gem up, turn the other cheek (toward the speaker), and get down (((((((((((((( !!!!!!!!!!

In 1967, Chief Robert Smallboy and a group of followers left the socially and politically deteriorating conditions of their allotted Reserve to avoid losing their traditions and language to encroaching outside influence. Upon the Kootenay Plains, in the wilderness of the Albertan Rockies, they established the Smallboy Camp (now known as the Mountain Cree Camp). This settlement of Ne Wi Yow (Cree) followed and still follows the direction of the Natural Law, in honour of their traditional practices and beliefs.

In 1996, Tony Isaacs of the Taos, New Mexico based label Indian House Records traveled to the remote location of the Smallboy Camp to make these recordings. Of the twelve songs on this cassette, sung by twelve singers, some are new and some, like “Chief Smallboy,1912”, are quite old. The recording is dedicated to the honour of their elders.

The experience of listening to Smallboy Singers is one characterized by the power of the sound, the burning expression found therein and the beauty of communal hearts coalescing to produce thundering beats and music meant for dancing. Impossibly skilled voices unite in an oscillating, complex vortex of communication, rhythm and intensity. The steady, hammering beat upon the Pow Wow drum is entrancing and conveys urgent tones of respect and reverence. Yet, as it is phrased in the liner notes: “These songs are for your listening and dancing pleasure. Traditionally yours, Smallboy Singers.”

The Emergency Room was a former fish-processing factory turned back alley recording/performing/practice space in Vancouver’s notorious drug- and rat-infested Downtown Eastside. Originally started in 2006 by Keith Wecker of Sex Negatives while hosting shows in Emily Carr University’s underground garage with Justin Gradin of Random Cuts and recording engineer Jordan Koop of Twin Crystals, the ER moved to East Hastings in ’07 and for a little over a year became the hub of Vancouver’s art punk community. When I reviewed this LP for my zine back in 2008 I wrote that the growing popularity of “the ER as a secret, illegal venue is at risk of imploding at any minute” and to get it “before this souvenir becomes an artifact.” And sure enough the Emergency Room did end up shutting down soon after this comp was released. But while secret venues and warehouse spaces pop up in East Van just as often as they’re closed down, the ER was the first to leave behind a vinyl compilation of what went down.

Optimistically titled “Vol. 1”, the comp features eight bands who performed or recorded at the space in its first year including Defektors, Petroleum By-Product, Vapid, White Lung, Mutators, Twin Crystals, Nü Sensae, and Sick Buildings plus a 20-page stitch-bound photo book of bands who played the space like Montreal’s AIDS Wolf and others. At the time, Mutators had toured North America and were arguably the most well known outside Vancouver, but that spot’s now definitively taken up by the Pitchfork-approved White Lung, who back in 2008 had only released one 7” (“Local Garbage” on Ryan Dyck of B-Lines’ label Hockey Dad).

Five years later, I like this comp even more than when it came out. It opens with two straight ahead garage-punk tracks from Defektors (misspelled as Defectors on the sleeve) before offering two more by Petroleum By-Product, who were still going by The Petroleum By-Products at the time and only just beginning to tweak their sound away from a focus on garage-pop towards the minimal-synth-driven New Wave sound they’ve achieved in the last few years. Side A wraps up with Mish Way screaming over White Lung’s raw, frenetic “Therapy” right after Vapid burst off the vinyl with two energetic pop-punk blasts, “Sex Stain” and “Die”. After taking a two-year break, Vapid are finally playing shows again, now with The Tranzmitors’ Bryce Dunn on drums and a new LP coming out this summer on Nominal / Deranged Records.

On the flipside is Mutators’ harsh and experimental “Instinct” and “VVV”. Their dark screamo is as intense and confusing as early ’80s Vancouver noise band Tunnel Canary. Listening to Twin Crystals and Nü Sensae I can almost taste the cigarette smoke and smell the stale beer and vomit that epitomized shows at the ER. Yet it’s the fucked up, scary noise of Sick Buildings’ “The Commuter” that tips this LP from just a crazy good compilation of songs to a snapshot of Vancouver’s underground DIY ethos.

As important as 1979’s Vancouver Complication LP featuring DOA, Subhumans, U-J3RK5 and other seminal Vancouver punk bands, Emergency Room Vol. 1 wasn’t just capturing Vancouver’s weird punk scene at its pinnacle, it was a jumping off point for a lot of these bands. It’s a testament to them that, except for the two sadly defunct noise bands Mutators and Sick Buildings, all are not only still performing but deservedly getting reviewed and approved outside Vancouver. Limited edition vinyl of 924, and I still see this around in record stores. Pick it up if you find it!

Janelle Hollyrock runs Mongrel Zine, a fanzine and record label out of Vancouver, with her partner Bob Scott.

My initial instinct to spotlight of one of Canada’s most outstanding and unique records was an epic approach, analyzing its prominent contributions to music – cultural and suburban influence, inspirations, aspirations, tools used. I even went to the extent of contacting Brett Wickens – the main songwriter on this truly wonderful masterpiece – to conduct a small interview. Yet as I collected this information, I realized it would prove to be a total contradiction of what makes the album so beautiful: its minimalism.

The Absence of a Canary was originally issued in 1980 by the now defunct Mannequin Records (not to be confused with the great contemporary Italian/German Wave label Mannequin) out of Burlington by-way-of Toronto, Ontario. It has since has seen two comprehensive reissues. The first was a deluxe box set issued by the soon to be legendary boutique label Vinyl on Demand with elaborate, alternate artwork and bonus material. The most recent edition comes from Canadian imprint Suction, whose owner is also the brain behind Solvent and producer of the upcoming modular synth documentary, I Dream Of Wires.

This LP was released in a time where mail order via catalogue was one’s only option. You couldn’t go to Ceramic Hello’s shows, because they never played live. You could find these two young men hiding in their bedrooms at their parents’ houses exchanging Kraftwerk LPs, listening to Gary Numan singles on the radio, and of course paying their respects to Brain Eno, whose influence is likely the most prominent, particularly 1974’s Taking Tiger Mountain (By Strategy). Wickens later went on to do graphic design for the inimitable Factory Records, notably working on Orchestral Manoeuvers in the Dark’s third album Architecture & Morality.

With respect to the up and coming artists chasing a vision based on what was accomplished by groups like Ceramic Hello, I do believe the majority are simply overlooking what makes this music unique – organic creation, naivety, lack of resources – a true dystopia. It’s not complicated. Bedrooms were the breeding grounds for the beginning of this era, using affordable pieces of equipment that were available at the time – notably the Korg MS-20, Roland CR-78, Polymoog and Minitmoog. In fact, the whole record was recorded on a borrowed Teac 8-track. Not to sermonize my beliefs, but in my opinion this time was Ground Zero for what is now considered a revived sound. There were no impulses for Brett Wickens and Roger Humphrey to create a groundbreaking sound that would escalate the charts, they were only doing what was natural to them. For that, we will always be grateful for Ceramic Hello’s sole LP, which will be celebrated for years to come.

Matthew Samways is the owner and primary operator of Minimal Electronic/Wave imprint Electric Voice Records. He is also the assistant director of Halifax fringe music and arts festival OBEY Convention as well as developing his solo musical endeavour under the moniker Amour Noir.